


Sugar And Rain

by CalamityCain



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things that have changed Tony Stark's life: Being thrown violently out a window. Searing kisses from a skilled tongue. Desperation, darkness, and above all, the scent of rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar And Rain

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this sweet little comic:  
> http://nikaalexandra.tumblr.com/post/39249864573/tl-dr-loki-smells-like-rain

Nothing's been the same since New York.

The grey streets sing of desolation. It's a song I've never paid heed to until my senses were irrevocably changed, rudely awakened, in a moment marked by tiny cuts, shattered glass and the crackle of magic.

I watch Pepper through a window in my lab she doesn't know exists. The woman without whom I'd be sitting in the ashes of my own weapons of mass destruction, without whom the Merchant Of Death would have met his. Without whom none of this would have happened. No doubt the world would go on spinning. Some other life would be turned upside down, but not mine.

_his hand curled around my neck with the force of worlds more ancient than our own as electric eyes full of desperation pulled me into their vortex. Then I hit the glass, and he watches me fall –_

Betrayal. Surely it’s scrawled all over my face. Her eye swing in my direction, and I close the little window. When I open it again the back of her red-gold head faces me like a silent accusation. I go back to my tinkering.

 

Another grey day.

Tuesday morning, I find myself in a half-dream and gracing the hole of a giant doughnut. Again.

This time there is no one to bring me down. What I wouldn't give for the comfort of Fury's steely eye, or Natasha's equally cool gaze. My nature is mercury and air; I work in starts and fits, all brilliance, yes, except when I break down. My suit is not the only thing that occasionally gives way. There are times when I need someone to ease the mercurial flow; to hold me down. Or (failing that) somebody to hold down.

I bite into my sugar-glazed dough. The sun is steadily rising, though clouds trail not far behind.

Everything is fine.

Nothing is alright.

I’m not the type to get introspective. I think too much as it is; my head is a tangle that I can only pick apart by poring over wires, metal, strings of code. There are only two people who have successfully untangled me with their sharp wits and the stroke of skin. One of them I had pledged to love. The other I’d pledged to destroy.

_when he unfolds against me like some strange feline, the strange scent of his hair fills my head as he whispers a tyrant’s poetic promises into my ear with lips that fold back over cunning white teeth like silk and brush my ear and –_

Life, it seems, happens too fast to some. Too soon I was wrapped up in my air of prodigy-mystique, then in the success of Stark Industries, and finally in the layers of titanium alloy through which I saw the world as an invincible man. The Iron Man. More magazine headline than man. And isn’t it so typical of such men to be the willing, self-absorbed stars of their own tragedies?

Those clouds are ganging up on the horizon, ready to gatecrash. Soon the air will begin to darken with damp. This alone would not throw a wet blanket on my party, but there is the manager of the diner to deal with. At this moment he’s yelling at me to vacate his doughnut. I see no reason not to, so I get up, unhurriedly. 

“You should be honoured,” I call down to him. “In Times Square I’m a regular tourist attraction.”

The last of the pastry is gone. I would lick my fingers, but sugar is not quite as appetizing on metal as it is on skin

_the peek of pink tongue is too much for me to resist. I lay a sticky finger on his lips and he parts them to let me in. More than that; he takes my hand and licks the sweetness off each digit, slowly, spilling hungry sighs that send sharp rushes of blood straight to my loins. I pull myself closer, slide my spare hand between his legs to fuck him as he sucks on my flesh. The sighs become moans – ragged pleas muffled by my fingers pushing deeper into his mouth_

Wetness hits my face. The first of the rain has come.

I would put my faceplate back on, but the coolness and the electric scent that brings the storm is tantalizing. There is a word for the smell – both sharp and heavy – that rises from warm earth with the first of rain. I can’t recall it now. What I _can_ recall is the joy of burying my face in the fragrance of glossy ink-black hair that dissolves into a lush tangle against my pillows. The taste of that tongue in my mouth, feeding me, filling me with a sweetness far better than the hollow sugar crystals I fill myself with otherwise.

The world slips away as I fly into the thunder. Bullets of water batter my forehead, my eyeballs, but I press on. If I close my eyes, I can see his face just inches away. Then his lips are against mine and his hand clasps my face and darkness is spilling into me.

If I open my mouth, I can taste him in the rain. 

 

~


End file.
